


The Adventure of the Extended Family

by EbonyKnight, RomanyWalker



Series: Greg Lestrade And The Adventure Of The Alternative Lifestyle [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 02:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanyWalker/pseuds/RomanyWalker
Summary: Greg has been in a polyamorous relationship with the Holmes brothers for a few months, and it's now time to 'meet the parents'. Greg's not scared. At all. Nope.





	The Adventure of the Extended Family

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We do not own Sherlock. Pity, because playing with him is a lot of fun.
> 
> Written with the amazing RomanyWalker. 
> 
> Please note that this is set during series three. Neither of us were particularly thrilled with how series four went down, and this is part if a bit of a 'fix it', as it were. There is more of this world to come.
> 
> This follows The Adventure of the Two Holmeses.
> 
> Feedback is loved :)

_How did I get here?_ Greg Lestrade wondered bemusedly as Mrs Holmes passed him a slice of Victoria sponge on a bone china cake plate. ‘Here’ was wedged between his lovers on the sofa in their parents’ lounge, ‘meeting the parents’ for the second time in his life, and the terror it inspired outstripped that of meeting his former in-laws all those years ago by several orders of magnitude. Really, who would _not_ be afraid of meeting the people who had spawned the Holmes brothers? Each had tried to prepare him in his own way, but Mycroft’s placating ‘it’s only Mummy you need to watch out for,’ and Sherlock’s scoffed ‘you regularly sleep with the most dangerous man in the country but are afraid of our elderly parents?’ had done little to help. 

“Thank you,” he said at his politest, and made sure to smile. Mycroft had warned him that she was the brains of the outfit, so Greg deliberately avoided eye contact with her, lest she read the real nature of their relationship in the crease between his eyebrows. 

She beamed and cupped Greg’s cheek. “We’ve been looking forward to the boys bringing their sweetheart home. I can’t tell you how pleased we were when Mikey told us. Not a regular set-up, of course, but my two have always been very different from other boys,” she said, taking the armchair beside her husband. 

Greg looked at Mr Holmes and would have sworn that, for just a moment, something knowing had crossed his expression. He cleared his throat, groping desperately for something to say, but was saved the necessity when Sherlock petulantly demanded, “Where’s my cake?” 

“In the kitchen, dear,” Mummy replied, looking at her youngest son with fond exasperation. “You’re not a guest so you can fetch your own. Now, Greg, which room will you want to sleep in? Mikey said that you usually share with both of them so that Sherlock doesn’t sulk, but I’m afraid none of the beds here is big enough for three.”

“Must you, Mummy?” Mycroft asked with a much put-upon sigh, and Greg pressed against his thigh in solidarity. 

“Yes, dear; I need to know where to put the supplies, because I doubt you packed any. Without that nice girl you have working for you I’d still need to be bringing your dinners up to London, and Sherlock's too busy playing detective to think of these things. I won’t have your Greg coming here and being inconvenienced.”

Mr Holmes reached out with a visibly arthritic hand and patted Mummy’s leg. “Now, Minnie, don’t embarrass the boys in front of Greg.”

“I’m not embarrassing them, Donald; we’re all grown-ups, aren’t we? And Greg’s one of the family.”

“That’s very kind,” Greg said, feeling something of a warm glow at being so casually accepted by Mrs Holmes, despite his abject mortification at having his sex life openly discussed by his lovers’ parents.

“Nonsense, Greg. Now, dinner won’t be ready for another hour yet, so you eat your cake. I’m going to sort the bedrooms out,” she declared and stood up, bustling out of the room. 

Mr Holmes watched his wife go fondly before turning his attention to Greg. There was _definitely_ something knowing in his eyes, and Greg felt a sinking sensation in his gut; the expression he was wearing was one he was very familiar with, given that both of his lovers wore it regularly, usually right before announcing an astounding insight. “I can’t say how relieved I was when Mycroft told us about you. I needn’t worry about them being indiscreet anymore. You must know how impulsive Sherlock is, and Mycroft’s never been able to tell him ‘no’. I don't need to tell you how much I've worried over the years.”

On either side of him his lovers tensed as one, and Greg nearly choked, doing his best not to inhale the mouthful of Victoria sponge he had just taken.

“Very funny. Perhaps you're finally dementing,” Sherlock said, voice positively ringing with panic despite his obvious attempt to inject it with bite. 

Mr Holmes merely cocked an eyebrow and stared at Sherlock. “You were taught better than to speak to your parents like that, Sherlock.”

A tense silence reigned for long moments until Mycroft cleared his throat and leant forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Well played, Father, very well played. Is Mummy…does she…” It was one of the few times that Greg had witnessed Mycroft - who was more than occasionally the British Government itself - ill-at-ease, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

“Don’t be silly; your mother might be one of the foremost mathematicians of her generation but she’s still a complete flake. Breathe, Sherlock,” Mr Holmes added, directing a concerned look at his youngest son. 

Sherlock sucked in a breath and launched himself up from the sofa. “You never said--”

“--Well, of course I didn’t.” Mr Holmes rolled his eyes in a manner eerily reminiscent of a stroppy Sherlock. “What would you have had me say? ‘Please don’t fornicate with your brother before dinner’?”

“Sit down, Sherlock,” Mycroft said silkily, and Sherlock promptly did as he was told, which was not at all unusual in response to that particular tone of voice. “Are you positive that Mummy doesn’t know?”

Mrs Holmes bustled back into the room before her husband could answer, ruffling Sherlock’s hair as she passed. “Doesn’t know what? Please tell me you’re not keeping secrets again, dear; we don’t want a repeat of that performance.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and though Greg had no idea what Mrs Holmes was on about, he laid a reassuring hand on Mycroft’s thigh. One of the most powerful men in the country though he was, his mother’s censure clearly made him uncomfortable. So much so, in fact, that even Sherlock was compelled to assist. 

“Of course not, Mummy,” Sherlock stated, standing up again “I’d know if he was.” Greg’s suspicion that he was moving to draw his parents’ attention away from Mycroft was confirmed when he stood directly in front of his mother, blocking her view of his brother, and stooped to kiss her cheek. “Is my old violin still here? I’m in the mood for Paganini.”

“Of course it is,” Mrs Holmes said, and Greg was pleased to hear that the disapproval had bled out of her voice. “So musically talented. You and Mikey will have to play together for Greg later.”

“Yes, of course we will,” Mycroft interjected smoothly, and Greg faced a Herculean battle to keep a smirk off his face. “Now, where is Greg sleeping?”

“I put the supplies in your room, because it has a better view of the gardens.” 

“I doubt we’ll be entertaining the neighbours, Mummy,” Mycroft sighed, and Greg had to bite his bottom lip to contain an inappropriate laugh. 

“No, but it’s a nice view to wake up to and I want Greg to enjoy his first visit,” Mummy said with an indulgent smile. 

“I don’t see why Mycroft’s room is better,” Sherlock grumbled sullenly, and as adorable as Greg found his petulance, he'd well and truly learnt his lesson about saying as much. “My room has a nice view, too, _and_ it’s closer to the bathroom.”

“Don’t sulk, Sherlock,” Mr Holmes chided exasperatedly. “I’m sure Greg is more than capable of crossing the corridor.” 

“Of course he is,” Mrs Holmes interjected brightly, clearly sensing danger. “Dinner won’t be all that much longer, so why don’t you boys go and get settled in?”

“Yes, let’s,” Mycroft agreed, standing up. He straightened his waistcoat, which had become slightly rumpled, giving Greg a wonderful view of his arse. “Come along, Greg; we’ll take your things upstairs and show you where the amenities are.”

“Right, thanks,” Greg said and stood, though he was still holding the cake plate with half a slice of Victoria sponge remaining. “Where shall I--”

“--Oh, don’t worry about that. Just leave it on the table,” Mrs Holmes said, and turned her attention to Sherlock. “Do stop sulking, Sherlock, dear. We had hoped you’d have outgrown this by now.”

“Right, thanks,” Greg repeated, doing as he was told. “I’ll just…” he trailed off, gesturing to where Mycroft had just disappeared through the door that led to the stairs, and fled, escaping before Sherlock could implode. 

“I apologise,” Mycroft said, as soon as Greg got to the top of the stairs. “I asked her to behave but--”

Greg cut him off with a chaste kiss. “Don’t worry about it. Your dad hasn’t threatened to kill me if I get either of you pregnant yet, so it can’t be going _too_ badly, even if he has rumbled you and Sherlock.”

__The door at the bottom of the stairs slammed and Sherlock stomped his way up to the first floor wearing an eloquent scowl. “I do _not_ sulk,” he growled and dropped Greg’s holdall at his feet._ _

__“Yeah, you kinda do,” Greg replied, reaching out to run a hand through Sherlock’s dark curls. “But it’s ado--”_ _

__“--finish that sentence and I’ll never solve another case for you again,” Sherlock promised, and pinned Greg to the wall._ _

__Greg grinned and used the hand still in Sherlock’s hair to pull him down for a kiss, which quickly spiralled out of control. Sometimes Sherlock was sweet and sometimes needy, and other times, like this, he was so intense and demanding that Greg’s toes curled and he completely lost track of time._ _

__“As much as I enjoy watching the two of you ‘go at it’, as it were, now is really not the time,” Mycroft said, a distinctly rough quality to his voice._ _

__“You’re enjoying it, brother dear,” Sherlock murmured, moving his mouth down Greg’s neck and applying teeth the sensitive spot right below his ear, which was a turn of events Greg was only too happy to get behind. He worked a hand down Sherlock’s back to cup his arse, encouraging him impossibly closer._ _

__“True, but it is still not the time for it,” replied Mycroft, and pulled Sherlock back. “That will be later.”_ _

__“Fine, but you needn’t think that you’re going to have Greg to yourself all night because he’ll be in your room.” Sherlock relinquished his grip grudgingly and stepped back to glare at his brother._ _

__“Use your brain, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed wearily. “Mummy said that there isn’t a bed big enough for the three of us here, not that we need to sleep separately.”_ _

__Though he hated it, Greg often felt stupid around his lovers, and this was one such occasion. “How do you plan to get around that, then?” he asked, reaching down to adjust his jeans. “As much as I like close quarters there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep with one of you on top of me.”_ _

__“I’m willing to experiment,” Sherlock drawled, and Greg couldn't help but grin._ _

__“For goodness’ sake, _think_ about it. One bed will not suffice, but two will. What about this is difficult to understand?” snapped Mycroft._ _

__Sherlock frowned for a moment, but suddenly his expression cleared.“Oh, I see. But we don’t have time to do it now.”_ _

__“Stating the obvious is beneath your dignity,” Mycroft replied, reaching out to trace a fingertip down his brother’s cheek._ _

__“What are you two talking about?” Greg asked, trying not to sound as stupid as he felt, when their exchange continued to throw no light on the situation._ _

__“We need to move the truckle bed from the small spare room into Mycroft’s, but we haven’t got time now, and Mummy won't be happy if we forgo the after-dinner drinks to re-arrange furniture,” Sherlock frowned._ _

__Mycroft stepped into his brother’s personal space.“I’m confident that one of us will be able to fabricate a suitable excuse.”_ _

__“Hmm, yes, I should think so,” Sherlock murmured as Mycroft pressed him to the wall._ _

__Sometimes, Greg had realised not long after meeting the Holmeses, there were things he was never going to understand, and this conversation was apparently one of them. He left them to it, trusting that they knew what they were doing, and wandered down the corridor, opening doors in the hope of finding Mycroft’s bedroom as he went. On the fourth attempt, he opened the door and found a large room with a double bed against one wall directly opposite windows giving views over the gardens. What really clinched it, however, was the pharmacy bag placed neatly on the bedside table._ _

__Greg crossed the room and peered into the bag, which he should have known would be a mistake. His face heated immediately on finding it full of boxes of condoms, in multiple varieties, various lubricants, and even a tube of Anasan Forte. “Jesus,” he breathed, mortified, and stepped back so quickly that he stumbled over the edge of the rug, barely catching himself on the bedstead. Yes, he was in a polyamorous relationship with both of her sons, and yes they had sex, but the thought of Mrs Holmes discussing the needs of her sons and their lover in the local Boots was almost enough to have him fleeing back to London._ _

__“Good, you found it,” Sherlock declared, striding into the room. He stopped beside Greg and looked into the bag. “Well, never let it be said that Mummy isn’t thorough.”_ _

__“Right, and you’re not at all embarrassed that your mum went out and bought...those,” Greg replied, flapping a hand at the bag._ _

__“Why would we be embarrassed?” Mycroft queried as he entered the room and deposited Greg’s holdall on the bed. His hair wasn't quite as neat as it had been, but he certainly did not look like he had just been ravaging his younger brother._ _

__Greg shook his head. “No, not going there.”_ _

__“Whatever.” Sherlock threw himself onto the bed, landing on his back and folding his arms behind his head. “This is, obviously, _Mycroft’s_ bedroom. There are two bathrooms on this floor and a cloakroom on the ground floor. I trust that the ‘bathroom’ signs affixed to the doors negate the need for us to point them out?”__

____Seeing Sherlock on a bed, legs spread wide and his dark tresses fanned around his head always tested Greg’s restraint, and this occasion was no exception. He stepped up to the edge of the bed and climbed on with his knees, crawling forward until he was close enough to kiss the smirk off the younger man’s face. “Yeah, I think I’ll manage.”_ _ _ _

____“Good.” Sherlock lifted one long leg and wrapped it around Greg’s waist, using it to pull him closer. As was usually the case when Sherlock decided that he wanted something, he had no qualms about taking it, and they were soon kissing heatedly, hands wandering. Despite the layers of clothing between them, Greg could feel the other man’s erection pressing against his own, and he worked a clumsy hand between their bodies to get at the fastenings of Sherlock’s trousers._ _ _ _

____“That’s it, Greg,” Mycroft breathed, perching on the bed beside them and running a hand down Greg’s back. “Pay attention to his ears: they’re particularly sensitive when he’s in this mood.”_ _ _ _

____Greg did as bidden, taking Sherlock’s left earlobe between his teeth and worrying it gently at the same time as his flicked a nipple through the material of Sherlock’s shirt. The resultant moan from Sherlock and breathy exhalation from Mycroft caused Greg’s cock to throb as he finally got a hand into Sherlock's trousers._ _ _ _

____It was not to be, however; Mrs Holmes chose that moment to call up the stairs, “Dinner’s ready, boys!”_ _ _ _

____With a groan, Sherlock unwound his leg from Greg’s waist, allowing it to fall back to the bed with a soft ‘thump’. “Her timing is atrocious.”_ _ _ _

____Disappointed, Greg withdrew his hand and kissed him gently before pushing himself up and off. “Plenty of time for this later, yeah? Just gonna go and wash my hands.”_ _ _ _

____“Second door on the right,” Mycroft murmured distractedly, standing from the bed with a frown. “Though Sherlock is most certainly correct on this occasion.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course I’m right. When am I ever wrong?” Sherlock asked smugly, moving from prone to standing with more grace than Greg had possessed at his age._ _ _ _

____Greg left the room in search of a bathroom, for there was no way he was going to sit down for dinner with his lovers’ parents without washing his hands, given that he had just had one of them wrapped around their youngest son’s cock. As he pulled the door closed behind him, he heard Mycroft say, “Do we really need to go over this again, brother mine?”_ _ _ _

____Once his hands were clean and dry, Greg opened the door to find Mycroft and Sherlock waiting for him, neat and tidy once more._ _ _ _

____“Well, shall we get this torture over with?” Mycroft asked, sounding much put-upon, despite the smirk lingering about his mouth._ _ _ _

____“Do shut up, _Mikey_. Why must you always be such an insufferable windbag?” Sherlock snapped loudly and stomped down the stairs like a recalcitrant toddler. _ _ _ _

____Greg was confused, for not three minutes ago they had been enjoying each others’ company without a hint of sulleness from Sherlock. “What--” he started, but Mycroft silenced him with a finger on his lips._ _ _ _

____“Leave Sherlock to his work,” Mycroft said conspiratorially, and followed his brother down the stairs._ _ _ _

____Following Mycroft back through the living room and into the kitchen, Greg was able to take in more of the detail of the Holmes’ homestead now that he wasn't paralysed by fear. It was rustic and homely in a way that neither Mycroft’s properties or Sherlock’s flat were, but both men were as comfortable and at ease as he had ever seen them._ _ _ _

____The kitchen, with its white walls and chunky furniture, was as welcoming as the rest of the house, and the door off to the side led through to a well-appointed but informal dining room. The table was set and there was a large casserole dish full of something that smelt divine placed in the centre, and though Sherlock was was scowling, Greg could see the hungry glances he was casting at the dish from his seat beside Mycroft._ _ _ _

____“Oh, there you are, dear. Why don’t you sit here, facing Mikey?” Mrs Holmes suggested, bustling around the table with a bottle of red wine._ _ _ _

____“Great, thanks,” he replied, taking the indicated seat. He was opposite Mycroft, who had rolled his sleeves up, and had Mr Holmes to his right at the head of the table. “This smells delicious.”_ _ _ _

____Mrs Holmes tittered as she took her seat at the foot of the table. “Oh, you’re a darling. I can see why my boys have fallen for you. Now, come on, help yourself.”_ _ _ _

____“No, Sherlock, our guest first,” Mr Holmes chided when Sherlock reached for the serving spoon. “Really, where are your manners, young man?”_ _ _ _

____With a dramatic huff, Sherlock folded his arms across his chest, appearing every inch the thwarted toddler. “Fine.”_ _ _ _

____Greg quickly filled his bowl and sat back to wait for the Holmeses to get theirs, casting a worried look at Sherlock. Yes, he could be sulky and obstinate and all kinds of annoying, but he really had been much less so in recent years._ _ _ _

____“So, Greg, Mikey, tells us that you have two daughters,” Mrs Holmes said, drawing his attention away from Sherlock._ _ _ _

____He swallowed his mouthful, which really was as delicious as it smelt, and smiled. “Yeah, I have. Leah’s thirteen and Maddie’s six. This is gorgeous, by the way.”_ _ _ _

____Mrs Holmes beamed. “Thank you, dear. Nothing to it, really.”_ _ _ _

____“Sherlock, pass the salt,” Mycroft drawled, and Greg looked away from their mother in time to see Sherlock snatch up the salt shaker and slam it down in front of his brother. “Was that entirely necessary?”_ _ _ _

____“Of course it was necessary_ ,” Sherlock replied, his mimicry of Mycroft almost perfect. “You asked for the salt and I gave you the salt. What more do you want?”_ _ _

____“Do stop behaving like a child,” Mycroft sighed, exasperated._ _ _ _

____“Like a child?” Sherlock snarled and turned in his seat to glare at Mycroft, completely ignoring his mother’s admonition to settle down. “I am _not_ behaving like a child!” When annoyed, Sherlock was prone to wild gesticulation, and, given the close confines of the dinner table, the inevitable soon happened: Sherlock’s hand hit Mycroft’s glass, spilling the contents across the tabletop, and, unfortunately, right into Mycroft’s lap._ _ _ _

____“Really, Sherlock!” Mycroft exploded, drowning out his parents’ censure, and reached for a napkin. “All of this because you’re not getting your way: it’s pathetic.” He dabbed at the front of his trousers with the napkin, but given the amount of water that had been in the glass, Greg doubted that it would do much good. “Do excuse me,” he said curtly, throwing the napkin down on top of the spilled fluid with a glare at his brother, and left the table._ _ _ _

____“Sherlock Holmes! You will apologise to your brother, and you will do so immediately!” Mrs Holmes thundered, pinning her youngest son with a steely glare._ _ _ _

____Far from looking chastised, Greg, who had frozen with a forkful of fragrant beef halfway to his mouth, caught a mischievous glint in Sherlock’s eyes before the younger man dropped his head in a show of contrition, and hastily stood from the table. “Yes, Mummy. Sorry.”_ _ _ _

____It was then that things fell into place for Greg, and he looked down at the table so as not to laugh at such an inappropriate moment. ‘Fabricate a suitable excuse’ indeed; if this was just a snapshot of what the brothers had been like as children, Greg was _definitely_ having an easy time of it with his girls. _ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry about that, Greg, dear,” said Mrs Holmes, settling back into her seat. “He was such a sweet child until after the mess with Redbeard. Wasn’t he, Donald?”_ _ _ _

____Laden fork hovering above his plate, Mr Holmes nodded obligingly. “Yes, dear; very good-natured.”_ _ _ _

____Silence reigned for a long moment, until a muffled shouting started coming from upstairs. Mrs Holmes smiled and leant over to pat Greg’s hand. “Such spirited boys, but you know that, don’t you?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, yeah, I do,” Greg replied, trying not to think about just how ‘spirited’ the brothers could be in the right circumstances. “Wouldn’t change either them for the world, though.”_ _ _ _

____Mrs Holmes clapped her hands delightedly over a resounding ‘thud’ from upstairs, “Oh, they couldn’t have found a better man to share their lives with. Now, you were telling us about your Leah and Maddie.”_ _ _ _

____Greg smiled at the thought of his girls. They had their moments, certainly, but he couldn't have been prouder of them if he tried. “Yeah, they’re great. Much brighter than I was at their age, at any rate. Leah’s got her eyes on working in design, but Jo, my ex-wife, isn’t happy with me at the moment because Maddie reckons she’s joining the Met if she can't be a princess--” he stopped at a loud scraping noise from upstairs._ _ _ _

____“Wretched pipes,” Mr Holmes said, and Greg turned to look at him. He immediately saw where Mycroft had inherited his ‘I’m lying to you but you will believe everything I’m saying, anyway’ expression from when he found the elder Holmes wearing it. “We really are going to have to get a plumber to look at the heating before winter.”_ _ _ _

____“Right, ‘course,” Greg agreed, though he knew that it was anything but ‘pipes’, wretched or not. “I’m hoping to introduce them over Easter.”_ _ _ _

____“Wonderful,” Mrs Holmes beamed. “Have you got a picture?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, ‘course.” Greg worked his phone out of his pocket and pressed the ‘home’ button to illuminate the screen. The wallpaper was set to a photo of him, Leah, and Maddie together at the beach on a day trip to Brighton the previous summer. He'd needed to stop a passerby to take the photo, for it had only been three of them, but it was a good one. Granted, Leah was scowling at the camera, but, given that she'd been twelve at that time, that was par for the course._ _ _ _

____Mrs Holmes eagerly took the phone from him. “Oh, Maddie is so like you!” she exclaimed, and Greg hummed in agreement around a mouthful of rich red wine. Of the two, Maddie was definitely the one most like him, both in looks and temperament; she had her mum’s afro hair and dark skin, but that was where the similarities ended. Leah, on the other hand, was her mum's double, but, thankfully, had none of her nasty streak. “Such beautiful young ladies. Show Donald, dear.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, yes, lovely-looking girls,” Mr Holmes said approvingly when Greg handed him the phone, a smile curling his lips. “When you’ve introduced them to our boys, bring them down for a weekend.”_ _ _ _

____Though the words were casually spoken, Greg was floored. Not only had they accepted his somewhat unusual relationship with their sons, but they were also opening their home to him and his daughters. “Thanks, I will,” he replied, hoping that he didn't sound as choked up as he felt._ _ _ _

____“The pleasure will be ours. We always hoped for grandchildren one day, but well…” she trailed off, looking up to the ceiling fondly. “From a young age we knew that there was little hope of it happening naturally.”_ _ _ _

____Mr Holmes nodded genially. “So inheriting them as part of a ‘blended family’ - that is the term, isn’t it? - part of a blended family really is a blessing. You can get out your mother’s pearls and your grandmother’s garnets at last, can’t you, dear?” Greg found himself wondering, not for the first time, which of his parents Mycroft actually took after the most._ _ _ _

____“You...really, that’s...,” Greg started, but didn't know quite how to finish. What _could_ he say to that? _ _ _ _

____“Welcome to the family,” Mrs Holmes smiled warmly._ _ _ _

____A sudden commotion from the top of the stairs brought Greg’s desperate groping for an appropriate response to an end, and he and the elder Holmeses turned towards the door as one. Sherlock appeared first, looking entirely too pleased with himself if a little dishevelled, and Mycroft followed seconds later wearing a whole new outfit._ _ _ _

____“In recompense for his tantrum, I had Sherlock move the truckle bed into my bedroom, Mummy. I apologise for the noise, but it should forestall any further acting out,” Mycroft said, retaking his seat._ _ _ _

____“You always did know how to handle your brother properly," Mr Holmes said.”_ _ _ _

____“Perfect _Mikey_ ,” Sherlock mumbled, stabbing a succulent piece of beef with his fork with more force than was strictly necessary. “Prancing off to get changed and leaving me to do the work, as usual.”_ _ _ _

____“Do stop being so tedious, Sherlock,” Mycroft drawled. “Perhaps try to grow up, too.”_ _ _ _

____Sherlock bristled and Mr Holmes, clearly sensing danger, cleared his throat. “Greg has just been telling us about Leah and Maddie. Your mother is so pleased to finally have grandchildren, aren’t you, Minnie?”_ _ _ _

____The expressions on his lovers’ faces were absolutely priceless, and Greg grinned. It really wasn't often that he got to see either of them out of their depths, and knew that he would cherish their brief flashes of synchronised panic for a long time to come. “Oh, yes. It will be wonderful. We’ll need plenty of notice before they visit, of course, so we can prepare two bedrooms. I shouldn’t think they’ll be much interested in Sherlock’s catalogues of poisoners, or Mycroft’s--”_ _ _ _

____“--Of course we’ll give you notice, Mummy,” Mycroft interrupted smoothly, though having known him for several years Greg could detect the hint of panic lingering in his expression and, judging by Mr Holmes’ expression, he was reading it loud and clear, too. “You’ve really outdone yourself with dinner.”_ _ _ _

____“Thank you, dear. It’s something we first had on holiday. We were staying in a lovely little gite in Ghent and the owner invited us to supper; I simply had to get the recipe,” Mrs Holmes replied, and embarked on a long discourse about the nuances of Flemish cuisine, which, if the glint in Mycroft’s eye was an indicator, was exactly his intention._ _ _ _

____Grateful for a reprieve, Greg sat back in his chair and allowed his mind to wander as the conversation flowed smoothly around him. Although the day had not been without its moments, he was pleased with how things had gone, especially given that his set-up with the brothers was far from conventional, and the relief at having got it over with was profound._ _ _ _

____A sudden, sharp kick to his left ankle pulled Greg’s attention back to the table. “Sorry, I missed that,” he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile._ _ _ _

____“Would you like some pudding, dear?” Mrs Holmes asked solicitously. “I made Sherlock’s favourite apple crumble and custard.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, please, sounds lovely,” Greg said, and he knew he got it right when Mycroft and Sherlock flashed him the same smile and Mrs Holmes bustled away happily._ _ _ _

____Apparently well trained, the brothers simultaneously stood from the table and started collecting the used cutlery and crockery. “A word of this to anyone in London, Lestrade…” Sherlock threatened as he moved away from the table with an armful of dishes._ _ _ _

____Greg grinned at his lovers’ retreating backs, for a moment neglecting to realise that their departure left him with their father. _Alone_ with their father. “I, ah,--”_ _ _ _

____“--No need to fear me, Greg,” Mr Holmes cut in, saving Greg from making more a tit of himself than he already had. “Providing that neither of my boys is hurt at your hands, we’ll get along fine.” He sat back in his chair, hands folded over his cardigan-clad tummy. “Well, any more hurt than is expected given the nature of anal intercourse. Their Uncle Rudy was that way, though, of course, in those days it was all kept very hush-hush. It became a tad harder to cover up when they found him drunk as a lord, wandering the village in his grandmother’s bloomers but--”_ _ _ _

____“--Thank you, Father, I’m sure Greg’s heard quite enough about dear Uncle Rudy,” Mycroft interrupted, sounding acutely embarrassed, as he entered the room with a large dish of steaming apple crumble, and Greg had never been so glad to see another person in his life. He knew that coming from a very different background would leave areas where he felt uncomfortable or unsure, but what on earth was he meant to say about Uncle Rudy and his grandmother’s bloomers?_ _ _ _

____Mrs Holmes returned carrying a stack of bowls and spoons, Sherlock hot on her heels with a large jug of custard, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had fallen. “Sherlock said you like custard, dear, but there’s ice cream if you’d prefer it,” she said, setting the bowls down on the table._ _ _ _

____Despite being full of carbonnade a la flamande, Greg’s mouth watered. “He’s right. This smells great.”_ _ _ _

____Sherlock sat down, somehow managing to stroke Greg’s calf with his foot, despite Mycroft’s legs being in the way. “Of course it does: Mummy’s apple crumble is second to none.”_ _ _ _

____“So that’s where you inherited your kitchen skills from, is it? I did wonder, being as Mycroft struggles with boiled eggs,” Greg said with a wink for Sherlock. Now that he no longer had a reason to ‘act out’, as Mycroft had put it, the sulkiness had bled out, leaving him content and relaxed, and Greg fully intended to keep him there._ _ _ _

____His ploy worked exactly as intended, for Sherlock smiled, looking pleased with himself. “Yes. Cooking is chemistry. By the time Mycroft had shown just how inept he was in the kitchen at anything other than eating, I was very interested in chemistry, and Mummy was determined that at least one of us would be a decent cook.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, well, not all of us are cut out for the menial work,” Mycroft sniped, helping himself to dessert._ _ _ _

____“What have you been told about snobbery, Mycroft?” Mr Holmes asked sternly, and Greg glanced up from his bowl in time to see _Mycroft Holmes_ looking properly contrite. _ _ _ _

___"Sorry, Father,” Mycroft apologised over Sherlock’s muffled snicker, and Greg had no trouble at all imagining what he must have been like as a youngster caught with a hand in the biscuit barrel. Mycroft turned his head enough to look at his sibling through narrowed eyes. “Do shut up, _William_.” _ _ _

____“Piss off,” Sherlock snapped, and smacked the back of his brother’s hand with his spoon._ _ _ _

____Mycroft huffed in a annoyance but applied himself to his dessert, which was all the encouragement Greg needed to start on his own. “William’s your first name, yeah?” he asked Sherlock after swallowing his mouthful of excellent crumble. He vaguely remembered seeing it on his charge sheet all those years ago, but given that even his brother had used ‘Sherlock’, it had slipped Greg’s mind until now._ _ _ _

____“No, my name is _Sherlo-_ ”_ _ _ _

____“--No, dear, you decided that you wouldn’t answer to anything but Sherlock when you were eight because you wanted an ‘interesting’ name like your brother,” Mrs Holmes interrupted, amused. “Your name is still William.”_ _ _ _

____Mr Holmes was, apparently, equally as amused; he sat back with a satisfied pat to his tummy and said, “Of course, we only used ‘William’ for his Christian name because Mycroft sulked about--”_ _ _ _

____“--Yes, yes, I’m sure that Greg gets the picture,” Mycroft snapped and dropped the serving spoon into the bowl with a dramatic clatter._ _ _ _

____Sherlock grinned at his sibling. “Don’t _sulk_ , Mycroft, you’ll give yourself more wrinkles.”_ _ _ _

____“Unless you want me to make your life very...difficult for the foreseeable future, you will _shut up_ ,” Mycroft growled at Sherlock, and the tone of it made the hairs on the back of Greg’s neck stand on end. _ _ _ _

____A slightly awkward silence settled over the table, with the Holmes parents smiling indulgently at their children, said children glowering at each other, and Greg torn between amusement and telling his body not to get aroused by Mycroft’s growl. After long seconds had passed, he laid his spoon in the bowl and cleared his throat. “That was gorgeous, Mrs Holmes.”_ _ _ _

____She smiled, and, just for a moment, Greg saw a happy Sherlock looking out of her face. “Oh, my boys have done well with you,” she declared, and stood from the table. “Come on, you two, clear the table!”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, Mummy,” Mycroft and Sherlock said together and did as they were told, following their mother into the kitchen, each laden with dishes._ _ _ _

____“Let’s go and get a drink,” Mr Holmes suggested, and it was patently obvious from whom Mycroft had inherited his talent for turning a polite suggestion into an edict. “Sherlock said that you’re partial to whiskey, so I thought I’d get the Macallan forties out.”_ _ _ _

____Greg followed Mr Holmes out of the dining room, back through the kitchen, and into another reception room. A gleaming Steinway dominated one corner with a violin case laid atop its closed lid, but the rest of the space was taken up by glass-fronted bookcases, a large fireplace, and two comfortable-looking chairs tucked away to the side. “Guessing Mycroft spent most of his time in here, yeah?” Greg asked, eyes sweeping the numerous books._ _ _ _

____“Oh, yes,” Mr Holmes smiled, looking around the room in fond remembrance. “Sherlock, of course, was always off wandering the gardens, collecting dead animals and soil samples and whatnot.” He poured two larges measure of whiskey and handed one to Greg. “You have questions.”_ _ _ _

____“Sort of.” Greg took a sip of his whiskey to buy himself a moment to think, and then another to savour its complexities: it was far beyond anything he’d tasted before. “Not many people would be happy to meet the bloke in a relationship with both of their sons. I mean, they told me you wouldn’t mind, but, well…”_ _ _ _

____“As Minnie said earlier, our boys are not ‘normal’ and were never going to have ‘normal’ relationships. We want for them the same as you want for Leah and Maddie: for them to be happy, secure, and in good company. Mycroft’s kept them secure since he turned twenty, but happy is harder. You’re a good sort, and you make them happy; the details of how you’re doing it are largely irrelevant.”_ _ _ _

____As one parent speaking to another, Greg understood that perfectly. “I try. We have our moments, but I’d do anything for them.”_ _ _ _

____“You love them.”_ _ _ _

____He'd been half expecting something like that ever since he had crossed the threshold, so he did not so much as twitch, and the plain truth came readily. “Yeah, I do. Things only… turned physical recently, but I have for years. Hard not to.” Mr Holmes clapped him on the shoulder and smiled._ _ _ _

____Sherlock chose that moment to burst into the room with a large tray bearing a coffee pot, cups, and a milk jug. He put the tray down on the coffee table between Greg and his father, casting a suspicious glance at the latter before turning his attention to Greg. He stepped closer until he was a warm, reassuring pressure down Greg’s right side. “I’m surprised you’re drinking that given the hangover you had last time.”_ _ _ _

____“Very funny,” Greg replied and kissed the smirk from Sherlock’s lips. His lover responded eagerly, but Greg was too aware of Mr Holmes standing _right there_ to allow Sherlock to push it past decency. _ _ _ _

____“Oh, how sweet!” Mrs Holmes cooed as she entered the room with Mycroft, and Greg had to fight the urge to put space between him and Sherlock. He was in no way ashamed of his relationship with the brothers, and Sherlock would only follow him if he tried, anyway._ _ _ _

____Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, quite precious. Now, perhaps we could get this out of the way so we can get to bed? Some of us have things to do tomorrow.” He approached the piano and lifted the cover to reveal the keys._ _ _ _

____“Come on, Greg, sit down.” Mrs Holmes waved him over to one of the armchairs by the fire. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard them play together.”_ _ _ _

____The chair was as comfortable as it looked, and Greg settled in, fondly watching Mycroft and Sherlock prepare their instruments. Mycroft propped the lid open when Sherlock retrieved the violin case, and then took his seat to strum absently over the keys, and smiling in apparent satisfaction with what he heard, as Sherlock fiddled with his violin’s pegs and plucked strings irritably, muttering under his breath._ _ _ _

____Mrs Holmes took the chair adjacent to Greg’s once she had her drink, but Mr Holmes stayed where he was by the sideboard. “Do you play, Greg?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, guitar. Nothing like their league but I enjoy it. Mycroft doesn’t think the stuff I listen to is music, though, so I make sure to play The Kinks whenever he’s in my car.”_ _ _ _

____“Wonderful,” Mrs Holmes replied, smiling mischievously. “Mikey is a wonderful boy, but he does need to be reined in occasionally.”_ _ _ _

____The sound of Sherlock’s violin split the air with a haunting tune, bringing their conversation to a swift end, and soon the piano joined it. Mycroft had played for Greg in the past and he had always enjoyed listening, but it was Sherlock who captivated Greg’s attention. Unlike his brother, Sherlock became absorbed in his music to the exclusion of the world around him, pouring heart and soul through the strings. Mycroft played with technical excellence, but without passion; Sherlock might miss a note or a dynamic marking, but a melody in his hands became a story while in Mycroft’s it was an equation._ _ _ _

____Long minutes passed as the brothers played and Greg felt himself drifting, the music relaxing after the anxiety about meeting his lovers’ parents. “We encouraged Sherlock to play professionally when he was younger, you know,” Mrs Holmes confided in a hushed voice, so as not to interrupt them. “When he completed his first degree but had no interest in taking it further or following Mikey into the civil service, he drifted a bit, fell into some bad company. Mikey looked after him, of course, but we really hoped that music would be enough to distract him from the drugs.”_ _ _ _

____The pain was obvious in her voice, and Greg fervently hoped that he would never have to see either of his children face such a battle. He knew that addiction was a spectre that stalked Sherlock and always would, and there wasn't much he wouldn't do to help keep him clean. “He’s doing well now. Really well. Hasn’t been around my crime scenes as much recently, but he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”_ _ _ _

____Mrs Holmes squeezed his knee. “They both are. You’re good for them.”_ _ _ _

____The music soared and Greg looked up to find Sherlock swaying gently on the spot with his eyes closed, and he was captivated. When it ended, silence settled gently, Sherlock’s bow poised above the strings and Mycroft’s fingers still on the keys as the last resonance died. Then Mycroft’s hands lifted, and Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed, and the brothers’ parents took a breath; Greg burst into applause. He didn't know if it was the done thing when the brothers performed at home, but he really didn't care, and, if the looks on the their faces were anything to go by, they were pleased with his reaction._ _ _ _

____“Wonderful!” Mrs Holmes declared, and she and Mr Holmes joined in Greg’s applause._ _ _ _

____Sherlock set about relaxing the strings and settling his violin back in its case as Mycroft stood. “You should play more often, brother mine,” Mycroft said, laying a hand on the younger’s shoulder._ _ _ _

____“Perhaps.”_ _ _ _

____Greg stood and crossed to the piano, raising one hand to brush Sherlock’s hair back from his face. “He’s right. You’re amazing. Both of you.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m a competent pianist and no more,” Mycroft demurred, though he was visibly pleased. “Sherlock always had more musical talent, though he wastes it by scratching at his violin when he doesn’t get his way.”_ _ _ _

____“Piss off,” Sherlock snapped and stepped into Greg’s personal space. “Can we go to bed now? We’ve observed social convention for long enough.”_ _ _ _

____“Subtle, Sherlock, really subtle,” Greg laughed, settling a hand of his lover's waist._ _ _ _

____“Subtlety is overrated.” Sherlock’s breath was hot against Greg’s cheek, and he looked up to find Mycroft staring hungrily._ _ _ _

____“Well, I think we’ll be leaving you boys to it,” Mrs Holmes said loudly, just when Greg was sure that Sherlock was going to take matters into his own hands with his parents _right there_. She approached, holding her hands out, and Sherlock shoved Greg forward slightly. His lovers’ mother took his hands in hers and squeezed gently. “Greg, dear, welcome to the family.” She pecked Greg on the cheek and dropped his hands, moving on to kiss her sons. “We’ll see you all for breakfast.”_ _ _ _

____“Good night, Mummy,” the brothers spoke in unison and Greg said “Yeah, night. And thanks again for dinner.”_ _ _ _

____Mr Holmes turned to look at the three of them and smiled a knowing smile. “Good night.”_ _ _ _

____The door closed behind Mr Holmes, and the three of them stood in silence, listening to the sounds of the elder Holmeses moving further into the house. Once it was clear that they were not going to come back, Greg felt his whole body sag with relief. “I can’t believe I let you pair of bastards talk me into coming here.”_ _ _ _

____Sherlock smirked, nosing gently against Greg’s neck. “They _liked_ you. I’m not sure what to think of that.”_ _ _ _

____With a huffed laugh Mycroft stepped close, stroking down Greg’s neck with an elegant finger, and from the angle of his other arm it was a reasonable bet that he had the other hand on Sherlock’s arse. “Why don’t we take this upstairs? I’d rather not damage another bookcase if we can help it; I’m not entirely convinced that Mummy believed my explanation last time, so let’s not risk it again.”_ _ _ _

____Greg tipped his head back and Sherlock took full advantage. “Shouldn’t we wait a bit? I don’t really want you parents awake in the next room, if it’s all the same to you.” Sherlock suddenly bit down over exactly the right spot and sucked, and Greg gasped, tangling his fingers into Sherlock’s hair to hold him there._ _ _ _

____There was a distinctly rough quality to Mycroft’s voice when he said, “Mummy won’t be able to hear anything over Father’s snoring and he could sleep through the trooping of the colour in the next room.”_ _ _ _

____“You blew me in your office with Donovan standing right outside the door not a week ago, Greg,” Sherlock breathed, moving to torture Greg’s ear. “This comes with significantly less risk.”_ _ _ _

____Memories of that particular occasion, of Sherlock swanning into his office, locking the door, and demanding to be serviced, inflamed Greg’s arousal and he pulled Sherlock closer, using his thigh to apply exactly the right amount of pressure to make him gasp. “I still owe you for that.”_ _ _ _

____Mycroft moved closer and used a finger to tilt Greg’s face just enough to give access to his lips; the kiss he initiated was enough to leave Greg panting and thrusting helplessly against Sherlock. Mycroft had thing for kissing Greg with Sherlock trapped between them, and Greg was only too happy to encourage it because the noises Sherlock made when sandwiched between the two of them were positively filthy. At length Mycroft ended the kiss, though his expression conveyed his reluctance at doing so more bluntly than he would ever say. “Enough: if this goes on for much longer I won’t be able to stop.”_ _ _ _

____Sherlock grumbled when Mycroft stepped back, determinedly retaining his hold on Greg’s arse, which the older man did nothing to discourage. “Given your ages, your refractory periods are very impressive. I don’t see why we can’t finish here and then retire to the bedroom for an encore. Greg certainly isn’t complaining--”_ _ _ _

____“--No, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed. “We’ve waited long enough that the time it takes to get to bed will not kill you.”_ _ _ _

____“Fine, but I want access to the Burgess files on Monday,” Sherlock bargained, relinquishing his hold on Greg and looking pleased with himself. Given that he had been trying to talk Mycroft into letting him in on that investigation for a good six weeks, Greg could understand why._ _ _ _

____Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “Well played, brother mine.”_ _ _ _

____With a satisfied grin Sherlock spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. “Manipulative little fucker, ain’t he?” Greg asked, amused despite the fact that Sherlock had just used him as a bargaining chip in a battle with his brother._ _ _ _

____“Never let it be said that he doesn’t know how to get his way,” Mycroft replied, running a hand down Greg’s back. “This green is a good colour for you.”_ _ _ _

____“You would say that, wouldn’t you? You’re the one who’s launched a campaign against my wardrobe.”_ _ _ _

____“Those shirts were a crime against humanity,” Mycroft huffed, though there was a smirk lurking about his mouth. “I could hardly be expected to suffer them when our arrangement became permanent.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on, let’s get upstairs before Sherlock decides he doesn’t need company.”_ _ _ _

____They moved back through the ground floor, switching off lights as they went. “Today went well, yeah? I mean, I didn’t embarrass you or anything?”_ _ _ _

____“You were perfect,” Mycroft reassured him as they mounted the stairs, and the snoring coming from the end of the corridor immediately put Greg’s mind at ease about being overheard. “Though Father’s knowledge of my rather... non-familial relationship with Sherlock came as something of a surprise.”_ _ _ _

____Greg rolled his eyes despite the fact that Mycroft couldn't see his face. “You and Sherlock are crap at realising that not being a genius doesn’t mean that people are stupid or can’t see things.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, well, consider that my lesson learnt.”_ _ _ _

____The door to Mycroft’s bedroom was ajar and in the dim light spilling from inside, Greg could see Sherlock’s shirt in a pile on the floor just outside and snorted. “Subtlety, thy name is Sherlock.”_ _ _ _

____Inside the room, Sherlock had left an expensive trail of designer clothing leading to the bed, where he was sprawled with one hand behind his head, and the other wrapped around his impressive cock. “You took your time.”_ _ _ _

____Greg’s breath left him in a whoosh at the view. Though he'd seen both brothers in various states of undress, and in enough positions to write a revised version of the Kama Sutra, there was still something about Sherlock’s natural arrogance and exhibitionism that left him distinctly hot under the collar. “Been at that for long?” he asked, aiming for nonchalance but falling well short._ _ _ _

____Sherlock smirked. “More than long enough. You’re both wearing far too many clothes.”_ _ _ _

____“Patience is a virtue, brother mine,” Mycroft said. Greg turned his head to look at Mycroft and found him deftly working the buttons of his shirt open. He got to the last one and flicked his eyes up to Greg as he made quick work of his cufflinks and deposited them on the bedside table. “Why are you just standing there?”_ _ _ _

____Not needing any further encouragement, Greg pulled his jumper off, allowing it to fall to the floor. Mycroft was now stepping out of his trousers and briefs, and it was a testament to the impact of Sherlock’s performance that he left them on the floor as he crawled onto the bed. Greg watched as Mycroft’s hand replaced Sherlock’s on his cock and Sherlock arched into the touch. “You’re breathtaking, little brother,” Mycroft murmured._ _ _ _

____“I want you, Mycroft,” Sherlock gasped as his brother picked up the pace, hips lifting fro the bed to follow the movement of his brother's hand. “You’ve made me wait all day.”_ _ _ _

____“Hmm, no more waiting.” Mycroft moved away just enough get a hand into the Boots bag on the bedside cabinet and removed a bottle of lube and box of condoms. “What on earth are you still doing over there?” he demanded with a glance over his shoulder at Greg._ _ _ _

____Greg cleared his throat and finished undressing. “Admiring the view. What do you want me to--”_ _ _ _

____“--I’m going to fuck Mycroft,” Sherlock declared, rolling onto his side to take the lube from his brother. “I’ll leave his cock in your capable hands. Or mouth, either way.”_ _ _ _

____The little blood that had been servicing Greg’s brain rushed south so quickly that he felt light headed, and he nearly lost his balance trying to tug his left sock off. In their time together they'd experimented with more permutations of all-male threesomes than Greg had known existed, but he rarely saw Mycroft bottom for Sherlock. Not that Mycroft was averse to receiving, not at all, but when it came to the brothers having penetrative sex with each other it was usually Sherlock demanding to be fucked, and Mycroft was never one to refuse him._ _ _ _

____“This will work better if you’re in bed with us, Greg,” Mycroft drawled, and Greg came back to himself in time to see Sherlock pulling Mycroft towards him with a glistening hand, so that Mycroft’s back was flush to his chest._ _ _ _

____Greg climbed onto the bed and ran a hand down Mycroft’s chest, carding his fingers through the lush, reddish chest hair there to tease his nipples. Mycroft’s sudden exhalation told everything that Greg needed to know about what Sherlock was doing with his fingers, and the way his eyes fluttered closed spoke volumes about Sherlock’s ability to pleasure his brother. Unable to help himself, Greg took Mycroft’s lips in a heated kiss, winding his free hand into the other man’s fine hair. He knew immediately when Sherlock’s clever fingers found his prostate: Mycroft shuddered and writhed, breaking their kiss with a quiet gasp._ _ _ _

____“Fuck,” Greg breathed as Mycroft’s shifting pushed their erections together. “Oh, fuck.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, I believe he’s ready. Condom, Greg,” Sherlock demanded huskily, withdrawing his fingers to hold his hand out expectantly. Sherlock took the condom when Greg managed to coordinate his fingers enough to remove it from the packet, and scooted back just enough that he could roll it on. “Do you want more lube, or like this?”_ _ _ _

____“Just get on with it, Sherlock,” Mycroft growled._ _ _ _

____Sherlock worked his hand under Mycroft’s thigh and encouraged him to lift it, which the elder Holmes did without complaint, draping it across Greg’s hip. The moment Sherlock pressed home, Mycroft’s mouth dropped open and he made a faint noise of discomfort. Greg wrapped a hand around Mycroft’s cock, stroking in time with Sherlock’s thrusts, easing him through the initial burn. Though the position wasn’t particularly good for a proper fucking, Sherlock clearly knew exactly how to push his brother to the edge, and set about it with ruthless proficiency. The soft sounds the Holmeses were making, the gasps and moans and muted demands for more, had Greg right there with them despite the fact that neither of his lovers had laid a hand on his cock._ _ _ _

____They'd had enough sex that Greg recognised the signs when Mycroft was approaching orgasm. Given that they were using a condom, which Sherlock hadn't tolerated since their sexual health screenings had all come back clear, it was no great feat of deduction to reason that they were trying to avoid mess; the flash of horror inspired by the thought of Mrs Holmes laundering semen-stained bedding was enough to spur Greg into action: he reluctantly lifted Mycroft’s leg and encouraged him to brace his foot on the mattress, then slid down the bed until he could take the head of Mycroft’s cock into his mouth. The noise the other man made was positively filthy, and Greg hummed his appreciation, stroking the sensitive skin behind his lover’s balls. He sucked and applied his teeth just so, guiding Mycroft into rocking forward into his own mouth and back onto Sherlock’s cock as much as their position allowed._ _ _ _

____A deep but muffled moan from Sherlock and the muted whine from Mycroft made Greg smile; despite not being able to see them, he knew that Sherlock, the biter of the three of them, had probably just sunk his teeth into the junction between Mycroft’s neck and shoulder, his favoured spot. That was apparently the final straw for the elder; he tensed and abruptly began to come in Greg’s mouth with a low sound. Greg swallowed convulsively in an attempt not to choke, a challenge which was not helped by the fact that Sherlock picked up the pace in response to Mycroft’s climax._ _ _ _

____When he was sure that Mycroft was finished, Greg pulled away and looked back up the bed in time to see Sherlock throw his head back and tense himself, hips jerking erratically. He was so entranced watching Sherlock that he failed to notice that Mycroft’s mental faculties had returned enough that he was staring hungrily. “Sit up here,” he demanded, gesturing vaguely at the head of the bed, and Greg didn't stop to think, quickly working his way back up the bed until he was sitting with his naked back against the cold headboard._ _ _ _

____Brief discomfort flickered over Mycroft’s face as his brother withdrew and rolled onto his back with a satiated sigh. “Do you want me to--” Sherlock started, removing the condom and deftly knotting the end, but Mycroft shushed him._ _ _ _

____“I’ll take care of Greg,” he said and shifted close enough to get his mouth around Greg’s cock._ _ _ _

____Any other time, he might have been embarrassed about losing control so quickly, but given that he had spent most of the day on edge and then had a front row seat to the spectacular show that was Sherlock fucking Mycroft into incoherency he couldn't bring himself to care._ _ _ _

____“Your face,” Sherlock breathed as Greg bit his bottom lip and tried not to thump his head against the wall, but Greg was barely cognisant of him speaking over the ringing in his ears._ _ _ _

____Eventually, the world came back into focus, and he turned to find two shagged out, satisfied lovers lying side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder, the bed barely wide enough to accommodate them. “That was fucking amazing.”_ _ _ _

____“Hmm, yes,” Sherlock agreed, rolling onto his side and resting his head on Mycroft’s chest. “I’m looking forward to being back in a proper bed, though.”_ _ _ _

____“Indeed. See if Mummy included any wipes with that collection, Greg. I have no desire to sleep covered in… this.” Mycroft sounded more relaxed than Greg had heard him in a long time._ _ _ _

____Rooting through the bag, Greg found a few lubes that they hadn't tried before, an intriguing yet deeply mortifying vibrating Durex cock ring, and, finally, a handful of Clinell wipes. “Yeah, here.” He handed Mycroft a couple of the packets and opened one to use on his own hands. “Will she mind if we take some of this stuff back with us?”_ _ _ _

____Sherlock snorted and took a wipe from his brother. “I doubt our parents will have much use for it.”_ _ _ _

____“They’re older, Sherlock, not dead,” Mycroft murmured, moving to clean himself up. “Where is the waste basket?”_ _ _ _

____Holding a hand out, Sherlock said, “Pass them here.” When he had all of the used wipes and empty wrappers, he did no more than dropped the lot down the side of the bed and onto the floor. Clutched in his hand as it came back into view was a bundle of dark blue fabric, which Greg immediately recognised to be pyjamas. He couldn't for the life of him understand why, but Mycroft was intensely self-conscious about his body. Sherlock's forethought at least meant that none of them would have to get out of bed, though. “Here,” he said, dropping the nightwear on Mycroft's chest._ _ _ _

____“Really, Sherlock, always so messy,” Mycroft chided blandly, immediately moving to dress with as much elegance as a man sandwiched between his two lovers in a too-small bed could manage._ _ _ _

____“Whatever. If you want to get out of bed to hunt out a bin, have at it.”_ _ _ _

____Mycroft sighed defeat and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m tempted to take this bed back to London and have it installed in one of the interrogation suites.”_ _ _ _

____Greg huffed a laugh, though his eyelids were becoming heavy. “You do that.”_ _ _ _

____Silence reigned for long minutes, marked only by their increasingly deep breathing and the muffled snoring from down the corridor, and Greg was drifting into a well-earned sleep when Sherlock said something that sent terror racing through his veins._ _ _ _

____“So, when do we meet your parents?”_ _ _ _


End file.
